Farstrider
by Jasiron
Summary: The fall of Quel'thalas experienced from the perspective of two Farstrider Rangers.
1. Chapter 1

Julianos' squad was stalking a group of undead in the forests west of Zul'aman. They had already been stationed there to keep an eye on the trolls, but when the Scourge invaded Quel'thalas the trolls retreated into their empire.

They were five rangers in the squad. Julianos was a Lieutenant at the time and second in command.

The group of undead they'd been stalking seemed to be not much more than a scouting group, but a scouting group that had made it dangerously far from the frontlines. The majority of the skirmishes took place much further east, at what had come to be known as the Dead Scar.  
>News as well as orders came in regularly as ranger scouts made their way through the forests. So far the orders had been to not engage the scouting party, but rather find out what they were looking for.<p>

However, the squadron was getting anxious.

"This is wrong. We shouldn't be allowing such filth to soil our sacred woods. Where are our orders to engage?" the concerns were shared by the entire squad, but it was Lor'therien, a young ranger, that voiced them.

"We need to know what they're after. Knowing their motives will be beneficial for our soldiers on the front," the voice of reason. Jasiron was a Captain and commanding officer of the unit. Though he supported and followed the orders he was given, his voice suffered from the doubt that had gripped so many of the rangers. "We can't fight an enemy blind."

It was true. No terms of surrender, no demands, nothing had been offered from the enemy. Their motives for invading Quel'thalas were a mystery, and it left a gaping hole in the Farstriders' defence. They simply didn't know where to amass, what to protect.

This enemy was like nothing the Quel'dorei had ever faced before. They were fearless, ruthless and relentless. The undead knew not anxiety nor fatigue. Their troops could walk day and night without rest – and the rangers were suffering for it.

Many posts of strategic importance had already been lost. Thalassian Pass had been the first line of defence; a bottleneck into which the enemy would have to venture. Archers cleverly positioned on either side of the pass ready to fire dozens of arrows down upon any unwelcome visitors.  
>It was here that Ranger General Windrunner had propositioned the Scourge commander. An ultimatum: "Turn around, or be cut down".<p>

But the undead knew not fear. The rangers stationed at the gate had been massacred. Flying monstrosities had pulled the archers from their perches and thrown them to the hungry undead many feet bellow.

In the end, the Ranger General had had to retreat into the woods.  
>Intelligence from the area suggested that the undead had started construction of an outpost in the mountains next to the pass. And that new monstrosities made their way out of the outpost everyday.<p>

It was getting dark, and the men were getting ready to sleep. They were three in the camp, the other two rangers were keeping an eye on the undead scouting party.

"Two hours, then Elleniel and Dor'ranian should be back. Try and get some rest."

They had no tents in the camp, no camp fire. There was nothing to indicate their position, but the elves themselves.

Julianos didn't get any rest, though. He was on guard duty. As Jasiron had said, in two hours Erreniel and Dor'rathir would return to the camp, and Jasiron would head out along with Lor'therien to keep an eye on the scouting party. These rotations were the only way they were able to keep up with the never faltering enemy. They had been at this for days, and they still had no idea what the undead were scouting for. And to make matters worse, the squad was receiving fewer and fewer news. They had not heard from a scout for days, not received any updates in orders or news. Sometimes it felt as if they had been forgotten.

xxxx

At daybreak Jasiron and Lor'therien returned, and Julianos ventured into the woods with Erreniel, following the instructions they had received from Jasiron. Quickly and silently they made their way through the forest. Erreniel was a remarkable ranger. She was young, but an excellent marksman and tracker. She led the way, with Julianos right behind her. Julianos himself was older. He had served with the Farstriders since before the second war. He had fought back the orcs as they burned the southern woods and he knew the forests of Quel'thalas as well as any other ranger; perhaps even better.  
>He had served for longer than anyone in the squad, but he had never wanted an officer's commission. He was a ranger by heart, not a leader.<p>

They neared the location where Jasiron had said they would find the undead. It was a small troll village. The huts and soil were burned out; probably by the trolls as they retreated to Zul'aman. The undead were nowhere to be seen, but this was to be expected. From the trees Julianos scouted out the village and quickly he found what he was looking for: a trail of rot leading away from the village; unmistakenly differentiated from the burned out grass because of the scent of death.

Julianos quickly nodded to Erreniel and started running in the direction of the scent. They dodged trees and bushes, jumping over streams and rocks, never making a sound, never leaving the cover of the trees. Soon after, they had the scouting party in sights.

xxxx

Later, when Julianos and Erreniel were nearing the ranger camp they were met by noises. Worried by this both Erreniel and Julianos readied their bows.

"To hell with the orders!" Jasiron shouted. "For days we are left here with no word, and when news finally arrive…" he choked on his words. Something was terrible wrong, Julianos could sense it. He had known Jasiron for years, he knew that he was always supportive of High Command always doing his duty.

"Jasiron, calm down, sit." it was Dor'ranian now, trying to soothe his old friend. "Breathe".

"Get out of my way or I swear I will cut you down!" Jasiron was screaming now. Dor'ranian stepped aside, astonished, speechless. Jasiron, Julianos and Dor'ranian had served together for many years, in many different units. They were friends.

Jasiron stormed off into the woods quickly disappearing out of sight. Julianos was astonished. He had no idea what had transpired in the camp, and it was not until now that he noticed an unfamiliar face in the camp; a scout by the looks of him. Erreniel entered the camp and Julianos followed.

"What has happened here?" Erreniel demanded.

"News finally arrived," Lor'therien simply said.

Julianos looked from Lor'therien to Dor'ranian, but no explanation was offered.

It was the stranger that took the word: "The eastern villages have fallen. Ranger General Windrunner has fallen. Our armies are in full retreat. The front lines have moved to the river. Our armies are gathering at Fairbreeze Village, but the conditions for a skirmish there are not optimal. If the runestones fall, Silvermoon is our last line of defence."

Julianos couldn't believe it. The southern Quel'thalas lost. The villages decimated; the Ranger General dead. It was all clear now. This was what the scouting party was after: the runestones. They were seeking entry to the Eversong Woods.

"What are their armies after? What do they want with Quel'thalas?" asked Erreniel.

"They do not care about our recources. They burned the villages, slaughtered the civilians. They are not after lumber, nor gold. We can only assume that they are here for the Sunwell." the scout continued.

"Wait," said Julianos. "The eastern villages… Jasiron is from Goldenmist. His family is in Goldenmist."

"Yes," said Dor'ranian.

"Goldenmist was utterly decimated, along with the other villages. I tried telling the Captain that going there would be pointless." the scout said.

"Well what do we do now? What are our orders?" asked Lor'therien worried.

"Retreat to Fairbreeze and gather up with our remaining forces. These lands are lost. I apologize, but I must continue on, there are other squadrons in the area that I must inform." said the scout and departed.

The camp went silent. Nobody said a word. A starting revelation came upon Julianos; he was now in command of the squad. They were waiting for his orders.

"Gear up," he said. "We're finishing off here."

Julianos led his squad to the place where he had abandoned the Scourge scouting party. Perhaps they would slow down the undead's advance by wiping them out. So they did.

It was a quick skirmish; the rangers never left the trees. When the undead had fallen the squad started their trek northwards towards the Eversong Woods.

xxxx

"This is disastrous. King Anasterian demands to know how we allowed the enemy to advance this far!" The visage of Grand Magister Rommath blurred. The loss of the runestones had allowed the enemy's necromantic magic to seep into the Eversong Woods, and already the magical prowess of the elves was being disrupted.

"Yes, Grand Magister, I will make sure a status report is sent to Silvermoon at once," Lor'themar Theron robbed his temples. He was tired. Having been Sylvanas Windrunner's second in command, he had been the one taking over her title as Ranger General after her death.

"See to it that you do. I don't have to remind you how dire the situation is." Rommath's visage faded and disappeared.

"Listen, I'll handle the status report. Just get some rest, the soldiers need you rested." Halduron Brightwing placed a soothing hand on Lor'themar's shoulder. He had always been a good friend, and now as Lor'themar's second in command, his friendship was more valuable than ever. Lor'themar knew that there was no way he would have ever been able to handle the burden of leadership without his aid.

Yet still, he knew he had no time to rest. The enemy was marching at the village as they spoke, his soldiers anxiously waiting for what would inevitably become their last stand.

"Thank you, Halduron. But you know I can't rest now." Lor'themar stood up and exited the makeshift war room. Fairbreeze Village had been refitted and repurposed to its best ability to become a military outpost.

Outside the men were weary. Survivors from the Blackened Woods of southern Quel'thalas along with civilians of the Eversong Woods had already been evacuated to Silvermoon. Only soldiers remained in Fairbreeze now.

Rangers were stationed in the woods ready to hail down death upon any enemy that would venture close enough to the Village. Silvermoon had even sent a regiment of Spellbreakers to bolster their ranks. Usually under the direct command of the Grand Magister, Lor'themar found these Spellbreakers hard to read. They showed no emotion, and offered no comments on the tactics he enforced.

His rangers had offered plenty of objections and disbelief at the Ranger General's order to burn down the woods of the southern Quel'thalas, but the Spellbreakers had silently acknowledged the orders and begun preparations. Lor'themar didn't know whether to approve of or detest them. These were their lands they had destroyed; their home.

However Lor'themar knew that they would be invaluable in the defence of Fairbreeze. Where the common ranger was not geared or trained for melee combat, the Spellbreakers were more than prepared; wielding towering shields and two-bladed swords. They were the bane of any spell caster and Lor'themar suspected that they would come in most handy against the necromancers of the Scourge.

The sun was setting, and the trees cast dark shadows over the village. The air was buzzing with magical energies from the magisters' rituals to keep up the protective enchantments, once held in place by the runestones. But the magisters' recognized that soon the enchantments would fade, and it had been decided that rather than be taken by surprise, the magisters would remove the enchantments, so that the armies would be ready for the oncoming assault. And this time was nearing.

Lor'themar looked out upon the forests. This **would** be their final stand. And if they failed Silvermoon would pay the price.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun was setting, and the woods were getting dark. Julianos could feel the anxiousness among the rangers as they waited. This was to be their last stand.

Once the sun had set entirely the magisters would remove the protective enchantments that protected the Eversong Woods and allow the Scourge to attack.  
>It was the new Ranger General's plan that the undead would be walking into an ambush and that their forces would be decimated by the Farstriders hiding in the woods.<br>It was a sound plan, but the Farstriders were heavily outnumbered.

"You know…" Erreniel started, but she went quiet again. There was nothing to say, and words seemed out of place. The silence seemed fitting; the silence of the grave.

And then the sun disappeared. A hum of magic that made Julianos' ears tingle swept through the forest and then a beastial roar was heard. The ground trembled as the armies of the undead started moving across the river and into the Eversong Woods.

Silently the rangers prepared their bows and readied to open fire. Outside the tree-line the enemy became visible: hulking zombies and abominations moving forward, the very soil rotting beneath their feet. Wagons made of rotten wood, rusted metal and bones dragged themselves through the woods, cutting down the ancient trees as they hit them.

Finally the enemy was in range.

Julianos heard the whistling sound of arrows flying as he along with every other ranger fired upon the enemy. As the undead fell in surprise Julianos cogged a new arrow and fired again. And again. From over the trees he heard the soldiers yelling orders as the glaive throwers in Fairbreeze fired their payload on the enemy's position. Huge glaives descended from the sky, cutting zombies in halves and destroying the awful meatwagons of the Scourge. Yet the enemy still advanced. New forces climbed on top of the fallen and continued moving onwards. They seemed to be ignoring the rangers in the woods, focusing on advancing towards Fairbreeze.

Another round of glaives was fired from Fairbreeze, and another wave of undead replaced the fallen ones. There was no end to them.

Suddenly roars were heard from within the woods, and Julianos turned around. From the sky bat-like creatures were sweeping down and picking off rangers. And from the ground, giant insects were massacring any ranger they could reach. The Farstriders had to turn their attention from the advancing zombie forces to deal with this new, unexpected threat.

xxxx

Lor'themar could hear his captains yelling orders. The Scourge had reached the village and the Spellbreakers were doing their best to push them back. It was a slaughter. From the woods, the roars of the rangers could be heard as they were pushed back towards the village.

They were forced into a corner, undead advancing from all sides.

From his perch on the top floor of the inn, by his makeshift war room, he could see the amazing size of the Scourge army. Their forces stretched as far as he could see.

The rangers retreating from the woods took up position and fired upon the tree-line. A ranger came up to him.

"Sir, we were ambushed in the forest! Gargoyles and massive insects were picking us off. We had to retreat." he said.

"Get your men into position and make sure the enemy doesn't press any further towards the village. Keep them in the woods." Lor'themar responded and the ranger ran back to his men.

Lor'themar beckoned Halduron over. "Halduron, prepare the troops to retreat to Silvermoon at my order."

Halduron seemed perplexed by this. "But if we retreat…"

"I will not have my men be slaughtered at this village. We can do more good once we join up with the remaining armies of Silvermoon."

xxxx

Julianos fought with all the vigour he had in him, firing arrow after arrow on the advancing enemy. Erreniel was at his side doing the same. They were retreating to Fairbreeze, trying to delay the enemy while making their way to the village.

Other rangers were doing the same, but many more had been lost to the enemy's surprise attack in the woods.

Dor'ranian and Lor'therien were nowhere to be seen.

A screech pierced the air above them, as a gargoyle dived to grab them, but Erreniel was quick and managed to shoot an arrow through it.

As the gargoyle fell to the ground, the giant insects advanced upon them, digging their way up from beneath the earth. Their arrows were no good against the insects' hardened carapaces.

"Run!" Julianos said, and they started sprinting towards the now visible tree-line. Gargoyles descended on them, but Julianos quickly dodged their sharp claws. At the same time an insect burrowed its way up beneath them, piercing Erreniel's leg with its sharp pincers. Quickly she drew her blade and dislodged the pincer, but she fell to the ground.

From Fairbreeze yells could be heard: "Shindu fallah na!" The village was being overrun. They were retreating.

Julianos drew his blade and pierced the insect's head. As it fell down the tunnel it had been emerging from, Julianos quickly swooped up Erreniel and started running towards the village. She seemed to have passed out.

They made it through the tree-line and into the village, where the soldiers were in full retreat. The undead legions were behind them, burning the village, slaughtering anyone who weren't fast enough to get away.

Julianos wasn't fast enough, he realized. He was tired from his burden. He stumbled, and Erreniel awoke from the fall. She was in agony, screaming from the pain in her leg.

"Come on, we must hurry."

"I can't," Erreniel gasped. "It's not just my leg… poison… I can't move my body."

Julianos was horrified. They had to get moving, there was no time to linger, but he couldn't carry her any longer.

"What…" he twisted his mind, trying to find a solution. "What can I do?" He was panicking.

"Leave me!" she cried "the poison will kill me anyways… I… please, just leave me."

Julianos realized the truth in her words. He had no choice, but… he hoped.

"Shorel'aran, Julianos. May the sun guide you…"

"I will not leave you to die by their hands. Forgive me." Julianos said, as he plunged his dagger into her chest. "Shorel'aran, Erreniel."


	3. Chapter 3

A report was due. In a matter of days, the Scourge had managed to conquer all of Quel'thalas, pushing the Quel'dorei to their very last line of defence; the capital of Silvermoon.

As Lor'themar walked the stairs towards the Sunstrider Spire where he would be questioned by the ruling council of Quel'thalas he felt utter alone.

For the first time in his life, he had no one to rely on. Halduron did not have permission to participate in this meeting. His rangers were busy preparing the city for the coming attack.

Not even the royal guards flanking him on either side seemed to acknowledge his existence. He was alone.

The midday sun shone high on the sky bathing the silvery-blue capital in its light. The royal palace of Silvermoon was glittering as if it was casting a light of its own, competing with the sun.

As Lor'themar entered the palace the light continue to shine by magical means from the grand lofts. A short gangway led to the Council Chambers. The Council Chambers were a grand circular room in the centre of the palace. The room made out the entirety of the tallest tower of the palace; the room being open to the top, sunlight shining in from the dome at the top.

The Convocation of Silvermoon was comprised of seven great high elf lords. The lords were gathered on the balconies around the walls of the room, though Lor'themar quickly noticed that some seats stood empty. King Anasterian Sunstrider stood on his perch at the northern side of the room, looking down upon both the Convocation and Lor'themar.

The old king stood proud and strong, his long, grey hair sweeping down his shoulders. He wore a golden battle plate swept in silken blue robes, displaying the golden sigil of the Quel'dorei. At his side the ancient runeblade Felo'melorn glistened.  
>Anasterian's eyes shone blue with arcane prowess, and Lor'themar could feel the king's gaze piercing him.<p>

"Welcome, Ranger General." the king said calmly.

"Thank you, my liege," Lor'themar bowed deeply. The acknowledgement from the king hit him hard. Ranger General. He was joining the ranks of the greatest rangers to have ever lived; yet it was under him that Quel'thalas had been conquered. A feat never before accomplished in the tens of thousands of years that Quel'thalas had stood.

Lor'themar dared looking around the great hall. Yes, many seats stood empty. He tried to count the members of the Convocation present. Three. He recognized their faces.

There was Rommath, Grand Magister of Silvermoon, supreme commander of all elven magi. The Grand Magister was a powerful man. Everything about him from his clothing to his posture radiated strength. He looked down upon Lor'themar with the greatest disdain. He was known to be a good friend and a great supporter of the Sunstrider dynasty and was said to have the personal ear of the king.

Then there was High Priestess Liadrin, leader of the church of the Holy Light in Quel'halas. Originally a human religion, the faith in the Holy Light had been quickly adopted by some of the Quel'dorei after Quel'thalas' entry into the Alliance of Lordaeron. Though Quel'thalas was no longer a member of the now crumbled Alliance, worship of the Holy Light was still practiced by especially the lower classes of the Quel'dorei society.  
>The High Priestess herself looked worried, weak even. Her eyes were shifty and shining with a much lesser glow than that of her fellow councilmen. Lor'themar contributed her sorry state to be a product of the war.<p>

With the great destruction the Quel'dorei had faced the last few days, many would start questioning the Light; if a divinity like the Holy Light really existed, how could it allow such destruction to overcome its followers?

The High Priestess didn't look directly at the Ranger General.

Finally there was Dar'khan Drathir; esteemed and brilliant magister of Silvermoon, one of the most gifted scholars and greatest authorities on the magical Sunwell, the very heart of Quel'dorei culture, and the man who had been directly responsible for the caring and restoration of the runestones.

Lor'themar knew him well, from his days as the Ranger Captain in charge of Quel'Danas.

Dar'khan had often visited the island and the Sunwell Plateau, conversing with Lor'themar, telling him about his latest discoveries of the Sunwell's magics.

Drathir was one of the few magisters Lor'themar had ever trusted, mainly because of the interest he had shown in Lor'themar's work on the isle. He clearly showed a genuine interest and understanding of the importance of the Farstriders' work.

Lor'themar also recognized who the empty seats belonged to, and it pained him to realize that their owners would never take them again; such far had the destruction reached, that the very rulers of Quel'thalas hadn't been spared.

The first empty seat was the one that Lor'themar was least worried about finding empty. It belonged to the prince, Kael'thas Sunstrider. But that seat was often empty, as Kael'thas had obligations outside of Silvermoon. As a member of the Council of Six, the ruling body of the Kirin Tor of Dalaran, Kael'thas spent most of his time in the human lands. Lor'themar knew very well that Kael'thas Sunstrider was safe in Dalaran these days.

The second empty seat was more ominous. It belonged to Jorad Arcanus, yet another magister of Silvermoon. One of the greatest elves to ever call himself a magister, Arcanus had a surprisingly bleak background. Word had it that he had grown up poor, an orphan, living on the streets of Murder Row, fetching for himself until he was found by a magister. His arcane prowess had proved unmatched by any except maybe Drathir and the Grand Magister himself. He had been one of the youngest members to ever join the Convocation of Silvermoon, and he was the brain behind the Arcane Sentries that patrolled the streets of the capital.

But now his seat stood empty, and Lor'themar realized that the magister had probably fallen with his village of Goldenmist.

The final seat was the one that pained Lor'themar the most. It had belonged to the former Ranger General Sylvanas Windrunner, his mentor and friend. Lor'themar had been there when she fell, fighting by her side against the hordes of undead. Never had Lor'themar known a person with more devotion or loyalty to her homeland than Sylvanas. She had truly cared about her duty to the land and the men under her command. When she fell, she did so in the defence of all she held dear.  
>Lor'themar realized that that particular seat now belonged to… him.<p>

Lor'themar wondered if he should elevate to the balconies and take his seat, but decided against it. He did not feel equal to the remaining members of the Convocation. He was a soldier, not a politician.

"Your defence of Quel'thalas has been admirable, Ranger General," Anasterian continued. His voice was strong, firm, reassuring. But Lor'themar felt the tiredness behind it. The worry. "I know that you have been cast into a difficult position. The loss of Ranger General Windrunner was very unfortunate."

Lor'themar didn't know what to respond.

"You were ordered to hold Fairbreeze Village!" Rommath exclaimed. Anasterian threw a disapproving look at Rommath, but the Grand Magister continued. "Now the enemy is marching on Silvermoon! If they breach our line the casualties will be catastrophic."

The words pierced Lor'themar, paining him deep inside. He knew that what the Grand Magister said was true. The fall of Silvermoon would mean the destruction of their people.

"I did what I deemed necessary. Our soldiers would have been butchered in Fairbreeze. The enemy took us by surprise, as I stated in my report." Lor'themar explained.

"Yes, we've all read your report, Ranger General." Dar'khan said, calm. "But your retreat from Fairbreeze were against direct orders of this Convocation."

"The Ranger General did not do anything that was not well within his right, councillors." Anasterian said. "We need to focus on what we do next. I will not let this city that has stood for more than ten thousand years go to ground."

Rommath and Drathir went quiet. Anasterian looked directly at Lor'themar. "What do you recommend, Ranger General?"

xxxx

"By order of his Royal Highness the King, every civilian is to report to the nearest recruitment office. Those who are willing to fight for their Kingdom are to be enrolled in the army and aid in the defence of Silvermoon!"

As Julianos exited his apartment on the Bazar the streets were in an uproar. Women and children, men both young and old were streaming up and down the streets on their way to different locations. Julianos caught sights of a regiment of Farstriders on patrol and went to them.

"What is going on? Where are all these people going?" he asked them.

"The Convocation has ordered an evacuation of all non-combat-ready civilians from the city." the commander answered. "Furthermore we're drafting civilians into the defence of the city. It's madness in the recruitment offices."

Julianos thought at this for a moment. Untrained soldiers on the battlefield never proved functional. At best they'd function as meatshields for the Scourge to clash against, buying time for the civilians to leave the city. It was a sickening thought.

"Thank you, sir. I'll report to Command as well immediately." Julianos nodded to the rangers before he left for the Farstrider Square.

"See to it that you do, ranger. We need any able hand right now."

As he pushed his way through the masses of people, it became clear for Julianos what they were fighting for. Endless amounts of civilians seemed to flood the streets and squares. He had never realized how many people lived in Silvermoon – though he suspected that many of these civilians were also refugees from other parts of the kingdom.

At the Farstrider Square things were calmer. Regiments of rangers stood lined up receiving orders from their commanding officers. Normally the Farstriders weren't frontline soldiers to be used on the battlefield. They were special ops teams, utilizing stealth and cunning. Their speciality was quick skirmishes, usually never revealing themselves before the enemy had fallen. But then again, Quel'thalas hadn't seen combat of this magnitude since its founding. None of the skirmishes against the Amani had been of this calibre. Not even when the Horde had invaded and burned the southern woods during the second war, had the situation been this dire. These weren't normal times.

Julianos quickly entered the headquarters and walked up to the nearest logistics officer.

"Lieutenant Julianos Hawkeye reporting for duty, sir" he said.

"What is your unit, lieutenant?" the logistics officer asked, head buried in his paperwork.

The question stung Julianos.

"The 21st scouting unit, sir. Stationed by the Amani borders," he replied.

"And where is your unit now?"

"Lost at Fairbreeze."  
>The logistics officer looked up at Julianos. "I'm sorry to hear that. Report to Ranger Captain Venn'ren over there," he made a gesture to the other side of the courtyard "he'll give you your assignment."<p>

The Ranger Captain was standing on a perch in the courtyard next to a group of rangers. Julianos made his way there and presented himself.

"Lieutenant? Alright, you're with the 11th company, third unit. You'll be safeguarding the evacuees to their destination." The Ranger Captain was brief; he had a lot to see to.

"And where might that be, sir?" asked Julianos.

"Your captain will fill you in on the assignment."

The new unit wasn't big, only a handful of rangers. Their orders were to protect the civilians as they were evacuated to Sunstrider Isle west of Silvermoon. It was a good, tactical position for the civilians to hide. If the intelligence was true and the Scourge was there for the Sunwell, then they would be headed north from Silvermoon, not west… if the city was to fall, that was.

As the unit departed to the city's western gate, where they'd be overseeing the evacuation, Julianos cast a final glance over his shoulder at what had been his home for more than a century. The only home he'd ever known. Was he going to see it again?

xxxx

Roars rolled through the city streets like thunder on the sky. The pavements were littered with bodies, some fresh, some already rotting; most elven.

The ghouls and zombies of the Scourge hacked away on the elven defenders even as they fell, consuming their flesh to strengthen themselves. Huge, lumbering giants stitched together with the flesh of many corpses strolled through the squares. Around the undead armies the ancient buildings crumbled, giving away to the evil army's merciless attacks.

At the Court of the Sun the armies of the Quel'dorei and the undead clashed before the Sunstrider Spire.  
>Lor'themar was sprinting as fast he could up the stairs to the royal palace. Gasping for air as he entered the council chambers, he yelled: "The Court has been breached! We must evacuate the Convocation, my Lords. Quickly, there is no time to linger, you must get to Sunstrider Isle."<p>

The councillors were gathered in the chambers, including the King.  
>"My Lords, what we dreaded the most has come to pass. Silvermoon has fallen," King Anasterian's breath was heavy, his words egged with regret. "I implore you all to listen to the Ranger General now and evacuate. I myself will withdraw with our final troops to Quel'Danas. If the Sunwell is to fall, I will go down with it."<p>

"My Lord, I really can't abide that…" Lor'themar started, but he was cut off.

"This is my decision. Gather your men, Ranger General and tell them to fall back to Quel'Danas. You should go to Sunstrider Isle yourself. Our people will need your help in rebuilding our Kingdom."

Lor'themar nodded.  
>"Councillors if you would come with me," he turned to Halduron "My friend, send word of the retreat and then meet me by the western gates."<p>

As Halduron ran off to carry out the orders, Lor'themar looked around the room. The councillors had descended from their balconies to the ground floor and stood with Lor'themar. He could see the worry in the faces of Rommath and Liadrin. But where was Drathir?  
>"Dar'khan?" Lor'themar asked, but Rommath shook his head.<p>

"He disappeared when the attack on the city commenced."

The implications were dire. At best the magister had fled the city with the refugees like a coward. But there were other scenarios. He could be dead. Or worse, he could be with the enemy. The two latter thoughts were unbearable, the final unthinkable.  
>"No matter, we must depart…" Lor'themar was interrupted as the marble floors of the palace shook beneath them. Cries could be heard from the hallways outside. "…now!"<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Sunstrider Isle was an ancient place of learning and wisdom. If Quel'Danas was the heart of Quel'thalas, then Sunstrider Isle was the head.  
>The small isle was the home of Falthrien Academy, the highest regarded magister academy in Quel'thalas, maybe in all of Azeroth. Countless young magisters had walked its halls, sought knowledge and wisdom here.<p>

At the northern reaches of the isle lay the Sunspire, the holiday residence of the royal family. It was here that the refugees had been allocated to. The majestic tower held many rooms and chambers, but it was nowhere nearly grand enough to hold the numerous refugees of Quel'thalas. Outside the tower, row upon row of tents had been raised.

As Julanos looked upon the refugee camp he silently noted, that as numerous as the refugees were, they were but a fragment of the Quel'dorei people. How many had been lost to the rampaging undead armies? How many were still alive somewhere in Quel'thalas? But the thought that pained him the most was this: "Would their people endure?"

Everyday new ranger parties made it across the bridge and onto Sunstrider Isle from Silvermoon to reinforce the 11th company. They brought with them grim news. Silvermoon City had been ransacked, the ancient streets and buildings burned or otherwise destroyed. The Sunstrider Spire lay in ruins.

A couple of days earlier the Ranger General had arrived at the Sunspire with the remaining councillors of the Convocation of Silvermoon. They had taken up residence in the Falthrien Academy on the isle's southern shore.

The Ranger General had given the Farstriders strict orders to guard the bridge to the mainland and kill any undead that would venture too close. They were ordered to patrol the shorelines regularly, but not in any way make sojourns to the mainland.  
>The Ranger General had declared Quel'thalas lost. Their main concern now was to ensure the survival of their people – of their race.<p>

But the undead armies never attacked Sunstrider Isle. According to the surviving rangers that arrived from Silvermoon, the undead armies were amassing on the northern shores of Quel'thalas, preparing to invade Quel'Danas.

At this news, Julianos' heart sank. So it was the Sunwell they had come for. But Julianos knew as well as the remaining Farstriders and the Ranger General, that they were too few in numbers to stop the undead. Any attack on their armies would be a suicide attack and would only serve to destroy the last hope for the Quel'dorei's survival.

So they waited at Sunstrider Isle, with the faint hope that King Anasterian and the magisters and Spell Breakers on Quel'Danas would be able to stop the enemy.

xxxx

It was dawn. Julianos was patrolling the eastern shore of the isle. The sky had a beautiful purple hue, and in the distance Julianos could see the first glimpses of the sun rising from the ocean. The air was silent, not even the birds sang. It was so very… tranquil.

Then came the blast. Julianos was knocked off his feet, landing on his back. A great, deafening hum pained his ears. He squeezed his hands to his head in order to make the noise stop. He looked up and the before so beautiful sky was in an uproar. Unnatural colours manifested as clouds whirling. Blue surge needles struck from the unnatural clouds as thunder. And it was all centred above Quel'Danas. And then, as sodden as it had happened it disappeared. The sky was again purple, the noise was gone.

Julianos got to his feet, his heart was racing. He broke a sweat and he couldn't gather his thoughts. Immediately he started running back to the Sunspire refugee camp.

The camp was chaos. Tents had been knocked over by the blast, the refugees were running around in panic, the soldiers trying to get a hold of the situation, but looking as panicked as the civilians. Mothers were trying to calm their children.

Julianos ran up to Ranger Captain Venn'ren who was in charge of the Sunspire refugee camp. He was standing at the entrance to the spire barking out orders to the soldiers.

As Julianos neared him he saw the horrified expression on the Ranger Captain's face. He grabbed his shoulder: "What was… Did it… Did it just happen?"  
>The Ranger General looked at him, his faded, dim, white eyes piercing Julianos'. He nodded.<p>

xxxx

As Lor'themar felt the ground shake he sprang to his feet. The thoughts raced through his mind; Had the undead armies attacked the isle? Where was his bow? He had to rally his troops!

He ran as fast as he could through the hallways of the Falthrien Academy and down to the lobby. Here he found the councillors along with Halduron.

"What happened?" he yelled "Are we under attack? Halduron send a runner to the Sunspire immediately!"

"We're not under attack, Lor'themar." Halduron said with a weak voice. Lor'themar looked at him. His old friend looked strange, weary, tired. High Priestess Liadrin stood up and went to Lor'themar.

"The enemy has yet to set foot on Sunstrider Isle, Ranger General." she said.

As realization hit Lor'themar his heart sank. He realized his hands were shaking. He looked for the only person who could verify his fears. He wasn't standing with Halduron and Liadrin. Lor'themar spotted him, slumped in a divan in the other side of the room. He walked to the Grand Magister, who sat with his head buried in his hands. While the Grand Magister was certainly several hundred years old, he looked even older. He looked weak and frail. As Rommath noticed Lor'themar's presence he lifted his head from his hands to look at him.

Lor'themar gasped. The Grand Magister, whose arcane affinity was matched by no one, the without a doubt most skilled magister in all of Azeroth, looked almost sick. His eyes, which usually shone with a bright blue colour, were dim and white. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a faint whisper escaped his lips: "The Sunwell… The Quel'dorei are lost." a tear trickled down his cheek. "We are lost."


End file.
